http://dmergent.org/articles/2014/11/10/20-questions-to-ask-to-see-if-your-minister-is-any-good

Pilgrim

http://aviatrixkim.wordpress.com/2013/12/26/you-might-be-a-pilgrim-if/

You Might Be a Pilgrim If:

aviatrixkim / December 26, 2013

56 Ways to Identify an American Post-Camino Peregrino in Withdrawal

1. Goodwill will not accept your used hiking boots.

2. You carry toilet paper, extra-powered Ibuprofen, and Compeed with you at all times.

3. You wash your socks with shampoo.

4. You have a fantastic tan…but only on your left side.

5. You have seen Pablito‘s special rock.

Pablito with his special rock

6. You fear cyclists.

7. You routinely approach reception desks and ask if the hotel is “complete.”

8. You hear that Alanis Morissette song in your head when you take long walks.

9. You can say “hello” in Spanish, French, Italian, German, Portuguese, English, Dutch, Korean, and Aussie.

10. You are secretly a little bit in love with the Singing Nun of Santiago.

11. You wash your underwear with shampoo.

12. You either have or are contemplating a scallop-shell tattoo.

13. You’ve engaged in hour-long poncho vs. rain suit debates.

14. Folgers just doesn’t cut it anymore.

15. You can pee anywhere, and you don’t really care who sees.

16. You can pack everything you need for a 6 week trip in 10 minutes or less.

17. Your most prized possessions are field-tested socks and underwear.

18. The yellow arrow is your GPS.

19. You wash your face with shampoo.

20. Whenever you go to a restaurant, you look for the Menu de Peregrino, and you can’t understand why the wine isn’t included.

21. You hoard plastic bags and diaper pins.

22. You can take a shower in 4 minutes…using only shampoo.

23. You can dry yourself off completely using a tiny ShamWow towel.

24. You’ve whittled your wardrobe down to 2 of everything.

25. You know how to say “medicated wipes,” “blister,” and “hemorrhoid” in Spanish.

26. You know and understand the many varieties of jamón.

27. You measure distance in K.

28. You only own clothing that dries really fast.

29. You walk into bars and ask for a stamp.

30. You can’t decide whether your scallop-shell tattoo should be the modern blue-and-yellow signpost one, the arty Logroño one, or the cool Navarrete one with the cross in it.

31. You’re not in a hurry.

32. You know to avoid the ensaladilla rusa.

33. You know to order the Ribera del Duero in Burgos, the Mencía in Villafranca del Bierzo, and the Albariño in Portomarín.

34. You wash your dishes with shampoo.

35. You do not bother to ask for tomato, mayonnaise, or lettuce on your sandwich.

36. You don’t care much about “things,” but if anything happened to your framed compostela, you’d freak out.

37. You’ve had the best conversations of your life with people who walked beside you for a single hour.

38. You love pulpo, but only a la gallega.

39. You feel like a winner when you find a free electrical outlet at bedtime.

40. After telling yourself you will never eat another tortilla españolaas long as you live, now it’s all you want…as long as it is recién hecho.

The David

41. When you check into a hotel, you ask if there is “weefee.”

42. You do not underestimate elderly Aussies, ever.

43. You want to hug John Brierley. You want to punch John Brierley.

44. The love you feel for your hiking boots is not natural.

45. You got a hug from The David. And then another one.

46. You think the Salvation Army bell guy is a donativo stand, but he doesn’t seem to be offering any snacks.

47. You are astonished when restaurants open for dinner at 5pm.

48. You know the difference between tapas and pintxos.

49. You’re never too hungover to walk.

50. When you rinse out your Pilgrimwear, the water turns black.

Not an exaggeration.

51. When you sit down to lunch, you immediately take off your shoes.

52. You keep turning up the “C” knob in your home shower, but the water does not seem to be getting any more caliente.

53. You can really hold your vino tinto.

54. You wave your hands around in dark bathrooms and wait for the lights to come on.

55.  You’ve been to the “end of the world.”

56. You know that anywhere is within walking distance, as long as you have the time.

Virtue

The Church often speaks of sin. Perhaps we have been guilty too often of morbid obsession in this regard. As often as not these days, on the other hand, it seems that the Church speaks too little of the reality of darkness. In both cases, the Church seems unable to speak with much inner authority or vitality: the weary have walked away; the darkness laughs, and breeds. 

Only through the total embrace of love, absolute self-offering for the sake of all people, and the humble pursuit of virtue, to be able to give ourself away in love, have we any hope of delivering light and life to our human family and to our world.

God, give us your Spirit, that we might love.

But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord. (2Co 3:18)

Among the many losses within modern Christianity has been the place of transformation. Nineteenth century revival movements and theology emphasized a single experience that was associated with salvation. Those who concerned themselves with what came later, described growth in the Christian life as “sanctification,” and tended to imply that it was optional. Contemporary Christians have settled for a spiritual life in a plain brown wrapper ever since.

Though the word sanctification occurs in the New Testament, it is nowhere treated as subsequent to salvation itself. Being saved, in the pages of the New Testament, means the whole of our life with God. And the purpose of the whole of our life with God is to be transformed into the image of Christ from glory to glory. Anything else is simply not the Christian faith.

Many Christians recognize that a transformation is supposed to occur within a believer, but have adopted a model that postpones that change until after death. Thus we live in this world as one-time, once-and-for-all conversionists, and hope to simply wake up as saints in the life to come. And even this model is often weakened to a matter of heaven as paradise (imagined in starkly material forms).

The fullness of the Christian gospel, as found within Scripture and the Orthodox tradition, is radically committed to the transformation in this life of the believer.

Psychology Is Not Enough

In a self-help culture, saying that people need to change is merely an endorsement of what everyone already knows. But the movement sought within the culture needs no God. To become a better person (more fit, more affable, more kind, more considerate, etc.) is simply a description of a moral program. Morality has nothing particularly Christian about it. Morality is constituted by whatever agreed upon rules of behavior are desired at any given time. The psychological component of morality is no more than the interior adjustment to a desired behavior: behaving well and enjoying it.

The transformation wrought by Christ is the manifestation in this world of the Kingdom of God. In its fullness, it looks like the resurrected Christ Himself. It is the union of heaven and earth, the created and the uncreated. It is a transcendental reality.

That, of course, describes some few saints in some measure. But admittedly, it does not describe many, nor does it appear to describe Christians in general.

But this is a false judgment. In a psychological culture, morality and psychology are the only human realities we acknowledge. We do not see nor understand the nature of spiritual things. We are locked in a world of cause and effect and presume that everything works in such a manner. The landscape of psychological causes (and effects) is the world as we choose to see it. But it does not see the landscape of the Kingdom of God – that which is birthed in believers in their Baptism.

One of the great challenges in living an Orthodox Christian life is making the transition from psychology to true spirituality. Some teachers suggest that many will fail to do so – and will thus fail to realize the reality of their birthright in Christ.

To speak of this movement is difficult because we leave the world of cause and effect and step into the world of grace (though even the world of cause and effect is moment by moment sustained by grace). But grace works with faith and freedom – thus there is not cause and effect (else it would be forced upon us). It is this life of faith and freedom that are often so strange to us. We cling to what we know and reduce our understanding to a virtually mechanical world. There we engage in various therapies and moralities, which have the ability to change appearances but never the substance of reality.

I will use the Apostle Paul as an example in this article. He was an upright, moral man prior to becoming a Christian. He kept the Jewish law in the strictest possible manner as a member of the Pharisees. He was not a hypocrite. But neither did he know the true and living God. When he was converted on the road to Damascus, he did not suddenly take up a new moral code. He abandoned his moral ways and set himself on the road of grace. That path was one he described as “weakness.” He humbled himself. He emptied himself. He submitted to beatings and scourgings. He endured shipwrecks and the false accusations of his enemies.

But he is not a moral hero, or an example of great human achievement. What we see in his outward Christian life, is also the shape of his inmost heart. There, too, he strained towards what was impossible and beyond human reach. He pushed beyond what could be known in cause and effect. What he found was the very mystery of the Kingdom – union with God.

The result of this inward emptying can be seen in the fullness of grace God bestowed upon him. Miracles were worked even by cloths that had simply had contact with him. He raised the dead and cast out demons. He became so closely united to Christ that he could tell others to live as he lived.

From the outside, this manner of life can easily be mistaken for some version of moral psychology. But it is nothing of the sort. It is the impossible become reality, by the utter dependence upon the God of grace. As God told St. Paul, “My grace is enough.”

Moving from the psychological life to the spiritual life is often counter-intuitive. It sounds like it won’t work. To a certain degree it involves quitting. We quit trying to be good, and seek only to empty ourselves to God. The goodness of our lives thus becomes God’s goodness, and not our own.

The moral/psychological life is often one that cycles between effort, failure, shame and remorse only to begin again with renewed effort and promises of a better outcome. Some Christian lives never leave this cycle. It can be sheer misery. Most often it leads to disappointment and a quiet resignation to something less.

At first, embracing a spiritual life can feel like embracing failure. Indeed, it is embracing failure and weakness. The Elder Sophrony taught, “The way down is the way up.” It is, strangely, the only spiritual path that would actually be open to all believers. The worst of us can fail. Some of us learn to be very good at it!

Prayer as the emptying of self in the presence of God is a very different thing than great athletic efforts of well-kept rules. I have often advised people to keep a fast during Great Lent that is somewhat out of reach – for without some measure of failure during the fast we are in danger of reaching Pascha with a sense of satisfaction instead of true self-emptying gratitude.

Taken to an extreme, it is easy to ask (as was asked of St. Paul), “Should we continue in sin so that grace might abound?” St. Paul said “Of course not!” But the logic of the question flowed from his teaching and is more sound than the moral/psychological substitutes that others have put in its place.

But weakness is not sin. Failure is often not sin. Our emptiness is not sinful in the presence of God. True repentance (humility, brokenness, emptiness) is not a result of sin, but the return to our proper state before God.

Consider two kinds of prayer: in the first, we have a sense of the prayers that we plan to pray (say a morning service) and the psalms and readings for the day and we struggle through. It is quite possible to do this without reference to God. We are present to our prayers, but our prayers are not present to God. The heart can be completely untouched. We speak but we don’t weep.

In the second, we struggle for words. We are aware of just how unaware we are of God.  We do not flee our emptiness or our brokenness, but we embrace them. And there in that place where we can do nothing of ourselves, we call on God who can do all things. And this is the restoration of our true relationship with God and our proper existence as human beings.

To enter into a true spiritual life we must leave behind cause and effect and abandon ourselves to the Ground where God causelessly causes. And having embraced such weakness, we stand without defense before those who would slander our way of life.

And this is the ground on which the saints stand. We cannot explain their existence. The transcendent goodness of their lives and deeds, the wonders worked at their hands – all appear to have come into existence “out of nothing.” But like the whole universe that surrounds us (which was itself causelessly caused) – they nevertheless exist.

And this is the change of Most High. Glory to His name!Christianity in a Plain Brown Wrapper

The Eucharist: Its Structure

Despite some talk about our “timeless unchanged Liturgy,” the Orthodox Divine Liturgy actually has undergone a number of changes since the days of the apostles, and even from the days of the second century. This is a good thing, for everything that lives changes and grows and develops. The prayers to the Babylonian god Marduk have not changed in rather a while, for devotion to Marduk is stone dead; the prayers to the God of the Christians have changed over time, for devotion to our God remains strong. The changes in the Liturgy therefore witness to its dynamic life and its importance to believers.

As mentioned in our previous article, in the days of the apostles the Eucharistic partaking of Bread and Wine occurred as the culmination of a full supper on Sunday evening, as witnessed to by the words of the apostle Paul to the Corinthians. At the Lord’s Supper in Corinth, “each one takes his own supper first; and one is hungry and another is drunk” (1 Cor. 11:21). Paul had some words of rebuke for this scandalous situation, but his words at least reveal that the Bread and Wine were part of an actual meal in the mid-first century. But by the time of St. Ignatius, bishop of Antioch (who was martyred about 107 A.D.), the meal (now called an agape, or “love feast”) was held separately from the actual Eucharist. We know this because Ignatius wrote to the church at Smyrna that they should consider as valid only “a Eucharist” at which the bishop or his delegate presided, and that furthermore, apart from the approval of the bishop, it was “not lawful either to baptize or to hold an agape.” Clearly the agape had by this time been separated from the Eucharist, for technical terms had already been coined for both.

We also know a bit about what the Eucharistic service was like. St. Justin the Philosopher (aka “Justin Martyr”) wrote about it a few decades after the time of St. Ignatius, in about 155 A.D. In his day, people were slandering the Christians as cannibals, saying that we ate babies at our secret services. They also accused us of incestuous orgies—all this Christian talk about “the Kiss” and “the brothers and the sisters.” In response, Justin wrote his Apology (or “defense”), in which he broke with Christian tradition by describing for outsiders what went on in the Christian worship. He did this with a kind of studied naivety, as if saying, “Here’s what we actually do. Is there some sort of problem with any of this?”

Thus in several chapters, he describes the Christian’s weekly worship as consisting of:

1. “The memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets” are read “for as long as time permits.”
2. The president of the assembly “verbally instructs” the congregation and “exhorts to the imitation of these good things.”
3. Prayers of intercession are offered “for all others in every place.”
4. The Christians “salute one another with a kiss.” (Note, O pagan: no orgy involved.)
5. “Bread and a cup of wine mixed with water” are “brought to the president of the brethren.”
6. The president “offers prayers and thanksgivings” over the bread and cup “according to his ability.”
7. The people respond to the prayer by saying “Amen” which, as Justin says, means “so be it.”
8. The people partake of the bread and the cup. Justin explains at length that this food which is called “the Eucharist” is “the flesh and blood of Jesus,” who told us to do this, calling the bread His body and the cup His blood. (Note again, O pagan: no cannibalism.)
9. “To those who were absent a portion is sent by the deacons.”

Justin further adds that all of this was done on Sunday, “the day on which we all hold our common assembly.”

One can immediately see that the basic structure of the Eucharist as described by St. Justin in the middle of the second century is that of our Orthodox Divine Liturgy today. All of the churches in both the east and the west conformed to this basic pattern, though, of course, the words of the prayers varied. Indeed, each pastor/ bishop made up his own thanksgiving prayer (or “anaphora”) in those early years, with standardization and use of a written model coming only much later. The “unchanging” part of our Liturgy is found in this basic structure, and even here certain additions were made, especially in the east.

One of these additions was the insertion at the beginning of the service of what we today call “the Antiphons.” These were psalms with a repeated refrain sung as the congregation processed through the town on the way to church. Obviously such a public display of faith could only take place after the Empire was well on its way to being Christianized. But these parades (“stations” they were called, because the parade would stop several times for prayer) were immensely popular, and people wanted to sing the songs even on days when there was no “station” or parade. Thus these psalms and prayers found their way into the beginning of the Liturgy.

Another addition was that of the Trisagion hymn, which was originally one of these songs. The Trisagion itself (“Holy God, holy Mighty, holy Immortal, have mercy on us”) was the refrain for the psalm, and the whole psalm with the refrain was used as an entry chant. The psalm eventually fell out (leaving only the “Glory…Now and ever” as a vestige), leaving the repeated refrain standing by itself. But people liked singing this hymn, with or without the psalm, and it secured a place in the Liturgy, after the Antiphons.

Another addition was that of the Nicene Creed. Originally the Creed was only used at baptisms, as the candidate’s confession of faith. But in the sixth century, the monophysite bishop of Constantinople inserted it into the Liturgy as a kind of ecclesiastical manoeuver to please the Emperor. None of his successors wanted to be known as the bishop who removed the venerable Creed from the Liturgy, and so the Creed remained embedded there. Over the succeeding centuries, it has proved to be a fortunate insertion, and perhaps shows that God can use even ecclesiastical maneuvering for His purposes.

Other parts of the Liturgy have been fancied up with the years. The simple bringing to the president of the bread and wine has become the beautiful and stately “Great Entrance.” Obviously the vestments the clergy wear have been brocaded and adorned over time, and the musical settings made more elaborate also. But in its basic structure, our present Liturgy means and does the same things as it always did. If Justin the Philosopher could step from a time machine and attend our Divine Liturgy today, he might wonder about a number of things (pews, for one). But as the service progressed, I imagine he would feel very much at home.

http://newsmallchurch.com/what-if-we-made-disciples-and-left-church-growth-to-god/

http://thomrainer.com/2014/09/12/six-symptoms-dysfunctional-church-rainer-leadership-071/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%253A+thomrainer%252Frss+%2528thomrainer.com%2529Church dysfunction

1. Severe theological errors are pervasive in the church.
2. The church is known as a “pastor-eater.”
3. The congregation experiences severe conflict.
4. Hardly anyone in the community knows the church exists.
5. The church is declining while the community is growing.
6. The church is “family owned and family operated.” 

Pray for peace

Life as we know it is fragile, and can change or end suddenly. Such change or end need not find us unprepared. We have only to give ourselves completely in love, and in love we are prepared for all things. 

All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

http://www.faithit.com/3-common-traits-of-youth-who-dont-leave-the-church/

“What do we do about our kids?” The group of parents sat together in my office, wiping their eyes. I’m a high school pastor, but for once, they weren’t talking about 16-year-olds drinking and partying. Each had a story to tell about a “good Christian” child, raised in their home and in our church, who had walked away from the faith during the college years. These children had come through our church’s youth program, gone on short-term mission trips, and served in several different ministries during their teenage years. Now they didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. And, somehow, these mothers’ ideas for our church to send college students “care packages” during their freshman year to help them feel connected to the church didn’t strike me as a solution with quite enough depth.

The daunting statistics about church-going youth keep rolling in. Panic ensues. What are we doing wrong in our churches? In our youth ministries?

It’s hard to sort through the various reports and find the real story. And there is no one easy solution for bringing all of those “lost” kids back into the church, other than continuing to pray for them and speaking the gospel into their lives. However, we can all look at the 20-somethings in our churches who are engaged and involved in ministry. What is it that sets apart the kids who stay in the church? Here are just a few observations I have made about such kids, with a few applications for those of us serving in youth ministry.

1. They are converted.

The Apostle Paul, interestingly enough, doesn’t use phrases like “nominal Christian” or “pretty good kid.” The Bible doesn’t seem to mess around with platitudes like: “Yeah, it’s a shame he did that, but he’s got a good heart.” When we listen to the witness of Scripture, particularly on the topic of conversion, we find that there is very little wiggle room. Listen to these words: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Cor. 5:17) We youth pastors need to get back to understanding salvation as what it really is: a miracle that comes from the glorious power of God through the working of the Holy Spirit.

We need to stop talking about “good kids.” We need to stop being pleased with attendance at youth group and fun retreats. We need to start getting on our knees and praying that the Holy Spirit will do miraculous saving work in the hearts of our students as the Word of God speaks to them. In short, we need to get back to a focus on conversion. How many of us are preaching to “unconverted evangelicals”? Youth pastors, we need to preach, teach, and talk—all the while praying fervently for the miraculous work of regeneration to occur in the hearts and souls of our students by the power of the Holy Spirit! When that happens—when the “old goes” and the “new comes”—it will not be iffy. We will not be dealing with a group of “nominal Christians.” We will be ready to teach, disciple, and equip a generation of future church leaders—“new creations”!—who are hungry to know and speak God’s Word. It is converted students who go on to love Jesus and serve the church.

2. They have been equipped, not entertained.

Recently, we had “man day” with some of the guys in our youth group. We began with an hour of basketball at the local park, moved to an intense game of 16” (“Chicago Style”) softball, and finished the afternoon by gorging ourselves on meaty pizzas and 2-liters of soda. I am not against fun (or gross, depending on your opinion of the afternoon I just described) things in youth ministry. But youth pastors especially need to keep repeating the words of Ephesians 4:11-12 to themselves: “[Christ] gave…the teachers to equip the saints for the work of the ministry, for building up the body of Christ.” Christ gives us—teachers—to the church, not for entertainment, encouragement, examples, or even friendship primarily. He gives us to the church to “equip” the saints to do gospel ministry in order that the church of Christ may be built up.

If I have not equipped the students in my ministry to share the gospel, disciple a younger believer, and lead a Bible study, then I have not fulfilled my calling to them, no matter how good my sermons have been. We pray for conversion; that is all we can do, for it is entirely a gracious gift of God. But after conversion, it is our Christ-given duty to help fan into flame a faith that serves, leads, teaches, and grows. If our students leave high school without Bible-reading habits, Bible-study skills, and strong examples of discipleship and prayer, we have lost them. We have entertained, not equipped them…and it may indeed be time to panic!

Forget your youth programs for a second. Are we sending out from our ministries the kind of students who will show up to college in a different state, join a church, and begin doing the work of gospel ministry there without ever being asked? Are we equipping them to that end, or are we merely giving them a good time while they’re with us? We don’t need youth group junkies; we need to be growing churchmen and churchwomen who are equipped to teach, lead, and serve. Put your youth ministry strategies aside as you look at that 16-year-old young man and ask: “How can I spend four years with this kid, helping him become the best church deacon and sixth-grade Sunday school class teacher he can be, ten years down the road?”

3. Their parents preached the gospel to them.

As a youth pastor, I can’t do all this. All this equipping that I’m talking about is utterly beyond my limited capabilities. It is impossible for me to bring conversion, of course, but it is also impossible for me to have an equipping ministry that sends out vibrant churchmen and churchwomen if my ministry is not being reinforced tenfold in the students’ homes. The common thread that binds together almost every ministry-minded 20-something that I know is abundantly clear: a home where the gospel was not peripheral but absolutely central. The 20-somethings who are serving, leading, and driving the ministries at our church were kids whose parents made them go to church. They are kids whose parents punished them and held them accountable when they were rebellious. They are kids whose parents read the Bible around the dinner table every night. And they are kids whose parents were tough but who ultimately operated from a framework of grace that held up the cross of Jesus as the basis for peace with God and forgiveness toward one another.

This is not a formula! Kids from wonderful gospel-centered homes leave the church; people from messed-up family backgrounds find eternal life in Jesus and have beautiful marriages and families. But it’s also not a crapshoot. In general, children who are led in their faith during their growing-up years by parents who love Jesus vibrantly, serve their church actively, and saturate their home with the gospel completely, grow up to love Jesus and the church. The words of Proverbs 22:6 do not constitute a formula that is true 100 percent of the time, but they do provide us with a principle that comes from the gracious plan of God, the God who delights to see his gracious Word passed from generation to generation: “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.”

Youth pastors, pray with all your might for true conversion; that is God’s work. Equip the saints for the work of the ministry; that is your work. Parents, preach the gospel and live the gospel for your children; our work depends on you.

 What a wonderful idea!

https://www.upworthy.com/some-people-came-out-with-a-cool-new-kind-of-poster-when-you-hang-it-people-cry-from-happiness?g=2&c=upw1

Fr. Troy Beecham
Sermon on Proper 11
20 July 2014

The heart of the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds would seem to be that we multiply evil when we try to identify evil and weed it out. This is the central point, but the explanation for how we arrive at that conclusion will require that we are willing to look with new eyes at this challenging, and I think commonly misunderstood, parable.

Typically, we read this gospel text as a verification of the ages-old perspective that bad people will get punished in the end. Is that what Jesus is teaching us, though? Does the death dealing god that is so common in our judgment narratives faithfully agree with the God that Jesus reveals to us, the God who is Love? I think not, and I will endeavor to explain why God’s judgment is different from what we normally understand it to be.

How does Matthew present judgment language and imagery? What insights can we gain from considering how he presents the teachings of Jesus regarding judgment?

The dramatic judgment scene in today’s gospel is not easily read with the God who is Love in view if we stick to the conventional interpretation. In our standard reading, the death dealing god of our darkest fears looms large, and we inevitably experience a frisson of excitement because that god is going to consume all the “bad” people of the world, especially all the people who have wounded us or those whom we love. The problem with that image of God is that you and I are inevitably the “bad people” of someone else’s narrative, and they are feeling that same excitement at the prospect that we are going to be consumed by flames. You see, our language and imagery of judgment recasts God as the monsters out of our deepest, darkest selves, calling to mind the “monsters of the id” of ‘Fantastic Voyage’ fame. If you recall that iconic film, those monsters destroyed their world, leaving it a desert.

One verse for understanding judgment in Matthew's Gospel is found at 11:12: "From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force." Jesus uses the conventional language of judgment, but turns it upside down through metaphor and points out that the kingdom of heaven is represented most clearly through those who are suffering violence and yet refuse to reciprocate. Another example for understanding Matthew’s use of judgment language can be found in the parable of the Wedding Banquet for the king’s son, in which the man without the proper wedding gown is thrown out in the darkness where there is "weeping and gnashing of teeth". We can easily see that Christ uses this parable to foreshadow his own crucifixion, identifying himself with the man who was thrown out in judgment. The most important use of judgment language and imagery is to be found, of course, in the crucifixion itself. We may interpret today’s gospel in the larger context of Matthew's use of judgment imagery, in the light of the
crucifixion and of the other parables, wherein Jesus becomes the one whom we declare to be the judged 'of God', and who himself suffers the fires of judgment.

Let’s look more closely, then, at the parable of the Wheat and Weeds. In the narrative, the crucial verse is 13:42: "and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Who does "them" refer to in context? In a more conventional interpretation, we typically assume that the "doers of lawlessness" are the ones who are thrown into the fire by the angels after having their scandals exposed. Look, however, at 13:41-42 again: "The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." The text allows, and I would say points out, that we may read this parable rather as identifying the angels of the Son of Man as being the ones who are thrown into the fire where there is a weeping and gnashing of teeth in penalty for having exposed the scandals of the evildoers. In verse 42, “they” are the evildoers, and “they” throw “them”, the angels, into the fire because their lawlessness has been revealed.

The self-righteous violence that we visit upon each other is the very evil that is judged by the Son of Man, suffering on the cross in order to expose our lawlessness. With the cross in view, how then do the angels gather the weeds? Do they do it through walking amongst the wheat with scythes and use violence? No, judgment is rendered by refusing to return the violence that is the inevitable result of exposing lawlessness. The angels are judged to be weeds, but their trust in the God who is love highlights what the life of the kingdom is actually all about, and clearly shows what does not belong to the life of the kingdom. By allowing themselves to be judged by evildoers, and to be thrown into the fire as the Son of Man first was himself on the cross, the angels offer their witness (martyrdom) of the judgment that the evildoers pass upon themselves, whose violence shows that they are in fact the weeds.

Remember the story of the three Hebrew men thrown into the fire in the book of Daniel? It was only after they had been thrown into the fire that the glory of the Lord was revealed, a glory which also revealed the bankrupt and corrupt judgment of our human kingdoms. It is often only in the fire that the righteous will shine. If we do read the "angels of the Son of Man" as those martyred in human fires of judgment, then they are also the resurrected righteous who shall someday shine like the sun.
This is admittedly not a conventional way to read this parable. I think, though, that it is faithful to the story of salvation in that we see Christ as suffering the judgment first for us; not God's judgment, but, in the terms of the parable itself, our human forms of judgment that multiply evil and end up identifying ourselves as the doers of evil, who have murdered the Son of God.

We rush headlong to bloody judgment and execution.  God rushes headlong to give us mercy and grace. Matthew's Jesus tells us how God works, quoting Hosea 6:6 "For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings". Jesus repeats this teaching regularly: "Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have come to call not the
righteous but sinners" (Matthew 9:13); and, "But if you had known what this means, 'I desire mercy and not sacrifice,' you would not have condemned the guiltless. (Matthew 12:7)

In the parable of the Wheat and Weeds, and throughout the gospel of Matthew, Jesus is teaching us that our habit of condemning the guiltless and using any form of violence to pass judgment on others must be unlearned and ultimately overthrown by learning God's mercy, grace, and love. We only perpetuate the very evil that we seek to destroy when we become judges. The Son of Man and his angels sift out the kingdom precisely by suffering the fires of human judgment willingly and without returning violence. This parable shows God's judgment on our human judgment. It also shows that we are given the blessed assurance that we will know mercy and grace through suffering violence if we will not return that violence. We are given the blessed hope of the resurrection, if we are willing, with Jesus, to allow God to use us as witnesses to the life of the kingdom.

Amen.

Fr. Troy Beecham

Sermon delivered at the SSJE

Cambridge, MA.

10 February 2014

We often struggle to fully live in the power and reality of God’s love.  No one is really surprised by such an assertion.  We know ourselves well enough to know just how much we struggle to love each other the way that God loves us.  We do feel surprised, though, when we seem to see Jesus stuck in a similar condition.  In this startling, even offensive, exchange between Jesus and this nameless woman, we witness this struggle in action.

Jesus’ initial refusal to include this pagan woman in the scope of his care and concern gives stark testimony that, even in the presence of the incarnate Lord, we in our creaturely confusion can fail to live into the fullness of God’s life giving Spirit.  It is surprising to us to see Jesus behave in this way because he included women in the company of his disciples and in table fellowship, even though his culture made such inclusion difficult at best, and forbidden more often than not.  The harsh rebuke given to the plea for help by this very Jewish messiah to a heathen, Gentile woman bears witness to our often impoverished understanding of God’s bounteous provision, in which we imagine a world where there is only just enough to feed ourselves, those whom we love, and those whom we will claim as belonging within our tribal or national identities.

What causes me to catch my breath in this gospel account, though, even more than the rebuke, is the luminous faith of this woman. In the face of stormy and turbulent words, her gracious reply reflected God’s marvelous light as in a clear mirror, a light that shone upon unseen vistas, revealing just how beautiful, spacious, and undiscovered is God’s kingdom. In the light of her faith we see a vision of God’s paradise garden, where all are invited to find their healing and rest. In this light, like the dawn of a new day, Jesus and his disciples appeared to see with new eyes a feast so superabundant that even the largest banquet tables of our imagination simply cannot contain all that God desires to give, a banquet where even the crumbs that fall from the overflow can feed the whole world.

Her persistent and reverent confrontation of the certainties that kept Jesus and his party separated from her opened the door for them to hear the invitation from God, which opened their ears to the deeper harmony of grace that underlies all of creation and opened their hearts in love for this foreigner.  Because of her courageous faithfulness and love for her child, and the willingness of Jesus to open his heart to her, healing was released into the world, and the fellowship of disciples was never the same again. What might have remained only a small, exclusive community was opened wide to receive all of God’s children. Because of her, the Church is made up of peoples from all over the world, from every nation and people.

We still need the Syrophoenician woman today in the living presence of those whose claims on the love of God challenge us, to call us to lay out more tables and to expand our definition of family.  When we are found to be walking in the shadows of our own brokenness, will we allow God to crack open the door so that the light of God’s love may shine and lead us into the glory of his kingdom? When we are found to be stuck in the echo chambers of our insider mentalities, will we allow ourselves to be caught up in the undying, insistent symphony of God’s love and grace, and exult with all of creation in the song of love that simply will be heard?

Following our savior Jesus Christ, let us pray that we might be set free to love as God loves us so that healing might be released into the world in ever increasing abundance and joy. Amen.